Trick or treat 2008

Trick or treat!


Elmo gets an early sugar rush.


Our little pumpkin.

Close observers might notice a major haircut in that last photo. That would be the result of 4 inches leaving my head this afternoon. I chickened out on bangs. Again. They scare me.

And how 'bout that road soda in that there picture? Who knew trick or treating involved beer?

(Also, an update on little CiCi: she is taking baby steps toward improvement, but they still don't know any more. Please continue to send your positive thoughts her way. Mom Jenny says knowing how many people out there are pulling for them is helping more than we can know.)

Update on little CiCi

Yesterday, I wrote about a friend's baby, CiCi, who was airlifted to a children's hospital after she either choked or had a seizure and stopped breathing. She is on a ventilator in critical condition this morning and they don't know any more. She is still fighting.

CiCi has an identical twin sister, Penny, and a big brother, Max, who is the same age as my Jack.

If you want to check out Jenny's blog, I am sure she would appreciate your positive thoughts.

Positive thoughts, please

I had a whole post ready in my head about something trivial when I came online to find some horrible, scary news about a friend's little girl. She choked, turned blue, stopped breathing and lost her pulse. She was taken via ambulance and then helicopter to a children's hospital where they brought her back and she is breathing again. Her mom has no further news yet, so we're hoping good things.

Her little girl is only a few weeks older than Emmie. So if you are the praying sort, please pray for little CiCi, mommy Jenny and the rest of their family. If you aren't the praying sort, please send some positive thoughts their way. Every little bit will help.

No fair

Tonight, they finally released the details about the Obama election-night rally here in Chicago. They've been talking about it for a few weeks, but only in the vaguest terms, with no official details.

On the 5 p.m. news, there was a story about an e-mail being sent to all the Illinois Obama supporters, which would get them on the ticket list. By the time I called Josh to see if he got the e-mail and he looked on his phone for the message and he got home to click through, we were waitlisted for the tickets.

I don't know why I assumed we would be able to just snap our fingers and get tickets -- there have to be more than a million Obama peeps registered in Illinois alone and they were only giving out 70,000 tickets.

The lack of tickets totally bums me out. I really want to go to this rally. I really want to be there to see Obama speak. I really want to be surrounded by tens of thousands of people who are just as excited about where this country is going as I am. I really just want to go.

Who need a fork anyway?

I really think it's important to teach your kids good manners from a young age. With Jack, we try to instill saying please and thank you, among other things, which he does almost all the time.

But teaching table manners to an almost-3-year-old boy is like herding cats.

For the last three months, Jack has been sitting in a booster seat at the dining room table for all his meals. For the most part, he does pretty well. Sure, he has his moments, which are represented by the applesauce stain on the wall two feet behind his seat, but these things are to be expected sometimes.

Usually, we go through two placemats at his spot per day because someone insists on eating HEAPING spoonfuls of oatmeal and half the spoonful ends up next to the bowl. Occasionally, he drops some food on the floor. I haven't seen him throw food in months and now when he is finished, he puts his cup on top of his plate and hands it to me saying, "All done Mommy!" It's a place I didn't think we'd get to six months ago when he would show us he was done by flinging his food or untensils on the floor.

But tonight, he decided to test me. I was sitting with him, telling him if he ate all his peas and carrots, he could have a special treat. "Candy?" he asked with a smile. Let me be clear, this child has never had any candy. He won't even poop in the potty to get his hands on some candy. So why he would think that, I have no idea. "No, cookies!" I said. He got excited.

He then leaned over and tried to eat his vegetables, without using his hands. In the process, he laid on the plate, getting ketchup all over his shirt.

I told him firmly that we don't do that because it's bad manners. I reminded him to use his hands. He smirked at me and while giggling, leaned over again and tried to do the same thing.

I swooped in, removed the plate and told him dinner was over. He, of course, broke down into hysterics. Clearly, we have a future pie-eating contest winner on our hands and I just ruined his training.

Distractable daughter

I am starting to realize why I don't feel comfortable nursing in public, and most of it has to do with the fact I am not down with flashing the nipple at everyone. Which is what happens on multiple occasions during the same feeding these days.

For the last two or three weeks, Emmie has been easily distracted when nursing. When I say "easily distracted" I really mean "she can hear the whisper of a butterfly wing three houses down and must sit up to find out what is going on."

On, off, on, off. Five minutes later, she announces her intent to finish by arching her back and screeching like a banshee if I even entertain the thought of maybe possibly perhaps seeing if she miiiiiight want to eat a little more.

I know it's the age for this behavior. Nine-month-old babies like to look around. Everything is more interesting than eating. She's getting more calories from food and doesn't need as much breastmilk. Blah blah blah.

But I really can't convince myself that she's truly getting enough in four sessions a day, two of which consist of a drive-by nursing.

W is for wicked

As in wicked sick.

Josh and I saw "W" this evening and I became nauseous within the first five minutes, and not from the storyline.

I have a problem with motion sickness. I can't see movies with quick camera cuts or shaky camera work. Home movies shot without a tripod? Forget about it.

So going to see what I thought would be a nice, calm movie about our Commander in Chief didn't concern me. Until five minutes in and I realized it was going to be a rollercoaster ride with my stomach.

I still can't shake the sour feeling in my stomach. Or is that just the subject matter?

Picture pages, picture pages

Emmie got her nine-month pictures taken today. She charmed the photographer and smiled and laughed and giggled and generally acted like a little supermodel. I think they turned out quite well.

I'm not scared

Actual conversation that took place in my house today at naptime.

Jack: (Screeches at the top of his lungs, about an octave higher than a note capable of breaking glass)

Mommy: "Jack, why do you DO that?"

Jack: "I scare people!"

Mommy: (Dying of laughter) "Well I'm certainly scared my hearing is damaged for life."

Emmie: Nine months

Dear Emmie,

Today, kiddo, you have been outside of me as long as you had been inside of me. Looking at it from the other side, I can tell you the pregnancy sure seemed a lot shorter than this. You have grown and changed so much in nine months, although I guess going from a couple of cells to a complete human being in that same time frame isn't anything to sneeze at either.



This past month has been one of the busiest in terms of development. You learned to stand up at the furniture, crawl and pull yourself up on things. The last two, you performed for the first time within 15 minutes of each other, proving the theory that Mommy can indeed spontaneously combust into flames. I was not ready for the motion part of this picture, and was hoping you would be content to sit and play with your toys for another two years. But you were ready and there was no stopping you. One afternoon you just decided you wanted to play with your piano, which was about two feet away, and you went for it. I cheered for you and clapped and made huge deal about it and you looked up at me as if to say, "What's all the fuss? It's just a piano."

But now that you know how to crawl, you realize that your mobility is somewhat limited. You want to go go go, now now now, faster faster faster. Now that you can crawl, you also want to walk. You're not content to hang out on the floor playing anymore, now you want someone to hold you upright so you can stand. Then you get tired of that and try to squirm away, where you would fall flat on your face if we actually let you twist your arms out of our grasps. It's a furstrating time for you, but this too shall pass.



These frustrations have manifested themselves in a high-pitched screech that only dogs can hear half the time. If you get pissed or don't like what we are forcing you to do -- you know, things like play with a toy you have tired of or spend 1.2 seconds longer in your exersaucer than you deem acceptable, terrible things like that -- you let out this blood-curdling screech that makes me jump out of my skin. It certainly gets my attention, since you used to be such an easygoing baby, and I usually jump to right whatever wrong you feel you are suffering. Which has set a great example for your brother, who has also started screeching to get attention. So thanks for that. Hopefully this phase will end soon and you will go back to your compliant little self.

Your independence has also extended to your diet. You can now feed yourself Cheerios, which you will happily do for several minutes, allowing us time to eat at restaurants without having to hold you or entertain you. But so far, it's the only finger food you have mastered, partly because you only learned to feed yourself about a week ago and partly because I am lazy and haven't given you anything else. You're still quite happy being fed baby food, although we're started to give you purees that are a little chunkier and with more flavors in the hopes of getting you ready to transition to table food in the next few months.



Breastfeeding has been a bit of a struggle these last few weeks. You've hit the age where everything is so interesting that you don't have time to slow down and eat. So you latch on, get in a quick snack for about five minutes, and then you're done. There's no coaxing you, no luring you back to the boob. Once you're done, you're done and if I try to convince you to eat a little more I am met with back-arching, red-faced, arm-waving, screaming displeasure. Which makes for a really pleasant bonding experience. But I know this is something that a lot of babies go through at this age and if you're not getting enough milk, you'll let me know. In the meantime, I offer it up as much as possible and humor you by letting you nurse once during the night. Of course it's this middle-of-the-night feeding that is always your best one because you're sleepy and there are no distractions. We only have three months to go, and I know we can weather this storm and get to my one-year goal. Like it or not, you're stuck with the boob.



You started sleeping through the night about three weeks ago, but I missed out on that fun because Daddy and I were away on vacation for a long weekend. You apparently took pity on Grandma and slept 12 straight hours for her. Of course when I came home, you discontinued that new trick and asked for more boob in the middle of the night. So while you don't sleep straight through, you are only waking up once and you are sleeping in your own crib for the whole night. Which is a pretty good breakthrough.



Now that you're mobile, Jack is starting to realize you are a force to be reckoned with. You can get to his toys, and he's not all that excited about sharing. So in his role as Arbitor of Toy Distribution, he will take something of his from your hands and replace it with something he wants you to play with instead. Usually something boring like a stuffed animal. Now I can't really fault him for replacing a toy, but I tell him he has to learn to share and let you play with the fun toys too. You're also able to follow him around the room now, which is freaking him out. But just this week, he was reading a book and you crawled over to see what he was doing and he "read" you the book. You patted the book and his leg and smiled and it was so nice to see the two of you playing together. I can't wait to see more moments like this. It's just like when the two of you are sitting in the dining room together while I get dinner ready and you make each other laugh. I watch the two of you and realize how awesome it is that you have each other.



Now that your personality is coming out, I am really enjoying hanging out with you. You like to cuddle and touch my face and now when I say "kisses" to you, you smile and lean in and lay a huge open-mouth baby kiss on me. When I go in to get you from your crib, you get a huge smile on your little face and reach your arms up while trying to kick a hole in your mattress because you are so excited. But there is still no one quite like Daddy in your eyes. You wave to him and flap your arms in excitement when you see him. You lunge for him when he enters a room and you always smile biggest for him. Your first word was "dada" and you often say "hi dada" when he's around. While I would like to hear some "mama" sometime soon, I am being patient because you have something different for me. When you see me come into a room, you make a noise that defies description. It's kind of like a whiny grunt. But you only make it when someone else is holding you and you see me. Once I pick you up, you calm down immediately. I'm so glad just being in my arms can make you feel better. I hope someday when you're older you will still feel like that. If someone makes fun of you at school or you fall down and skin your knee or you stick your foot in your mouth saying something stupid (not that I would know anything about how that feels) or you have a bad hair day, I hope a hug from Mommy can make it all better.

Love,
Mommy

Stand up and be a man

Jack has decided he wants to pee standing up now. He's observed and practiced and he's gained a mastery of the equipment, so we let him have at it.

He needs to stand on a stool at home, but he can handle public restrooms pretty well, from what I have observed. I wonder when he'll start asking for urinals in the women's restrooms I take him into?

While I must say it's a little cleaner from the standpoint of not having to worry about the potty seat anymore, I can only imagine the condition of the floors around the toilet in the coming weeks. We have three bathrooms he uses throughout the day, so that's three times the amount of mopping. On an everyday basis. I'm going to need a raise.

Poor thing

Emmie sneezed approximately 746 times today, leading me to believe that she was getting sick.

She woke up crying tonight after only being in bed for an hour. Then another 15 minutes after that. Because she is sick, I decided to go in there and not make her cry it out. She was interupting my Entourage viewing, but because she probably needed me, I paused it. I am selfless like that.

She lifted her head and she was covered in snot. Literally dripping down her face. So I moved her to the swing so she could be propped up, snd you know, breathing. Sent Josh out for Tylenol. We'll drug her up good and hope for the best.

It's those damn preschool germs. Poor kid doesn't get any of the fun of finger-painting, snack time or the train set and all the fun of the sickness.

All about Mommy

Not that I am complaining in the least, but the last few days have seen a marked shift in Jack's excitement about me. Usually, I am fun to have around and play with and serve his meals, but he's not really that into sitting with me or covering me with kisses.

But something has shifted as he gets closer to 3. He's been climbing into my lap unexpectedly. He's been throwing himself at me, hugging me. He's even asked me to lay down and watch Elmo with him, which involved him actually lying still with his body touching mine.

He has not laid down next to me for more than 2.5 nanoseconds since he stopped the nonstop nurse-athons in our bed when he was a year old, so this is foreign to me. This evening, he was sitting next to Josh on the couch watching a video when he climbed down and announced "Jack sit Mommy" and climbed into the chair with me.

Everyone says little boys are so into Mommy, but I hadn't really experienced it until now. I sure hope it stays this way for a while. Makes me feel like a million bucks.

Who needs pets?

Let me share with you the single greatest parenting decision Josh ever made. One night after eating quesadillas and guacamole at Chipotle, he decided to take Jack into Petco to look at the animals. And thus was born Jack's interaction with pets that doesn't require any effort on our part.

We take him to the pet store, he runs around looking at fish, frogs, turtles, hamsters, ferrets, bunnies, snakes, birds and mice. We follow him around until he gets tired of it and then we go home.

No early-morning walks, no litter boxes, no cages to clean. We can leave for weeks on end without figuring out about who will watch the pets. We don't have to worry about his allergies. There's no fur strewn about the house. In short, it's perfect.

Now if we can just convince him no one has pets that live at their house, we'll be golden.

Aaaand, we're mobile

I am not ready for this.

In the space of 15 minutes tonight, Emmie learned to crawl and pull herself to standing. ON HER EXERSAUCER. Which she promptly let go of and fell right on her fool head. There was much crying, some of it mine, lamenting the loss of everything I held dear to me, such as having one child who could not get away from me.

She's fussy, but damn it, she was going to pound out some tunes on that baby grand come hell or high water in this example.

Cheering for you

Give me an E-M-M-I-E!

Sorry for the copout picture post, but after my slothful post last night, I stayed up late to fold and put away all the laundry, run the dishwasher and clean the kitchen. Then I cleaned out my closet and scrubbed the floors on my hands and knees today.

You could say I shamed myself into a clean house.

I'm not usually like this

I am sitting on my couch, catching up on Facebook (who am I kidding, "catching up" -- like I don't check it multiple times a day) and trying to come up with something amusing to blog about. But I realize, it's exactly what I am doing that should be the topic.

Dig if you will the picture: Every light in the house is blazing (hi Josh, yep, that would be the electric meter tick-tick-ticking onward and upward), I am surrounded by six loads of laundry (four folded, but spread out on the floor, and two unfolded in a heap on the chair).

I am drinking a Coors Light (yes, I am drinking alone, what are you going to do about it? It's for the milk supply.) (It always comes back to the boobs on this blog, doesn't it?) And there's an empty plate in front of me, remnants of fish nuggets, mashed potatoes and a spinach salad. Healthy Eating 2008.

The sink is full of dishes that should have been loaded into the dishwasher hours ago, I can see Cheerios on the floor under the high chair and there are approximately six pairs of shoes taking up residence near the front door.

But the kids are in bed, there's playoff baseball on the flat screen and a piece of chocolate cake is calling my name from the fridge. Perhaps less time online and more time in the domesticity field would serve me well.

Here we go again

I think the old saying goes something like "When the GPS is stolen the first time, shame on you. When the replacement GPS is stolen a second time, shame on me."

Remember back in April, when someone broke into our car and stole our GPS? But we left the gate open and the car alarm was not on and the GPS holder was on the windshield and the unit was in the console, which was pretty much begging for someone to steal it?

Well this time, the gate was closed. But not locked. And the car door? Well that was closed, but not locked, too. And after months of faithfully removing the GPS from the console, we got a little lazy and may or may not have forgotten it was even in there. And now we're again one GPS lighter in the aftermath.

Seriously. You would think we would have learned our lesson the first time. Oh but no. Of course, the person who left the car unlocked shall remain nameless but it rhymes with "gosh" as in "Gosh darnit I am so displeased the GPS was stolen." Which was most definitely not the G-rated tirade I spewed forth upon learning of the theft.

After calming down and getting a little perspective, I was actually glad "someone" left the door unlocked. Because that way, the thief didn't have to break a window. So we saved some money on that little snafu. Which is nice.

What I don't understand is if GPS units are being stolen left and right in this shit-ass economy, which I have read is the case because they're easy to swipe and sell, why isn't anyone making them find-able? If the satellites know where my car is at all times, then they should also have a security feature that allows me to track it down and repossess it.

There will be no third chance for the thieves and a stolen GPS system in our car. We're done. That's it. We're both getting new phones at the end of the month and they'll come equipped with GPS and that's what we'll use. Or -- gasp -- we'll go old school and use Mapquest and print out directions.

I'm declaring this National Cervix Day

Three years ago today, a doctor stuck a needle in my back, sewed up my cervix, ordered me to bed for four months and told me all we could do was hope that my pregnancy proceded to a viable point. I was scared and nervous and hopeful.

Three years later, I have not one, but two successful cerclage babies. Thanks doc!

It's a weird anniversary to celebrate, but easy to remember because it all went down on Oct. 1. I'm still not sure what the appropriate gift is for an internal organ, however. Do I trot it out for dinner? Send it an e-card? Buy it an Xbox 360?

For all the times I have decried its competency and publicly belittled it, I must apologize. Today I celebrate the cervix! Perhaps declaring it National Cervix Day might be going a little too far, but I kind of like the idea. I know there are readers out there who have the same love/hate relationship with their own cervixes (cervixii?) and might like an excuse to celebrate, so feel free to join me.

Today, cervix, it is all about you. Thanks from the bottom of my heart.